MERCS: Crimson Worlds Successors (20 page)

“I am inclined to agree.”  Tyler was focused, attentive.  “I would have aided you at your request, simply as a friend and an ally, but what you describe sounds like a threat to all of us.”  He pressed a small button on the table, activating a com unit.  “Barria, I am declaring a level two security alert.  I want all senior command staff assembled in one hour.”

“Yes, sir.”

Cain forced back a smile.  The officer’s response had been crisp and immediate.  He knew Jarrod Tyler ran a tight ship, and he was getting confirmation of that now.

“I am sure you gentlemen are anxious to return to the Nest, but I would be pleased to have you attend the strategy meeting if you can spare the time.”

Cain nodded.  “Of course, General.  We would be pleased to attend.”

Tyler returned the nod.  “Very well.  Can I offer you both some lunch before?  I’m afraid sandwiches are all we have time for.”  He pressed the com button before either of his guests could respond.  “Lunch for three in the conference room.”

“Yes, sir,” came the instant response. 

Cain couldn’t hold back the grin this time.  Apparently, Jarrod Tyler’s stewards were as disciplined as his military staff.

*        *        *        *        *

“I understand why you are so upset, but you need to stop making yourself so crazy.  You have a lot of responsibilities.  So much stress.  And whatever else you may believe, you are still a man.  You can only take so much.”  Ana was lying next to him, her hand moving slowly across his chest.  The room was dark, just a hint of light coming from the glowing screen of the workstation on his desk.  “I’m worried about you.”

He looked at her, and he managed a smile, though he didn’t suspect it was very convincing.  He’d been tense for weeks now, and he’d been growing increasingly frustrated with the lack of progress in investigating the mysterious enemy stalking his people.

Ana had been sharing his bed since the night he’d returned from Lysandria.  At first he told himself she was a pleasant diversion, something to distract him from the worries that consumed him day and night.  But he knew that wasn’t the truth.  He’d been strangely drawn to Ana Bazarov since the day he’d first set eyes on her outside the burning hell of Petersburg.  And once she’d gotten past her initial anger and suspicion, he knew she felt the same thing.  He still refused to admit she was anything more than another mistress, albeit a new one that piqued his interest with greater intensity, but he hadn’t seen any of his other concubines since the first night with her.

“I am fine, Ana.”  He sighed softly.  “I am always fine.”

“You can save that for your soldiers, who might believe at least some of it.  But you are wasting your efforts on me.”  She put her hand on his face.  “I know you are not fine.”

“So you think you know me now?”  His voice was soft, gentle, not prickly, as it might have been.

“I’m getting there.”  She slid onto her side, so she could face him more directly.  “I know you never show weakness to anyone.  Not even Erik.”  She paused.  “That must be difficult.  To be strong all the time.”

“There is no place in my life for weakness, Ana.”  His tone was more guarded now, defensive.  “I have too many people counting on me.  Including Erik.  They may enjoy camaraderie with me, value my friendship or admiration—but the one thing they absolutely need from me is strength.  If that falters, they die.”  He paused.  “That is the burden of command.  I know it is what my father carried all those years, and I know what it did to him.  But as great a man as he was, he allowed himself to be human…and he paid the price for it.”

He looked into her eyes, but his thoughts were distant.  “He never slept, Ana.  I remember waking up in the middle of the night many times, slipping out of my room and seeing my father sitting on the patio, looking off into the night.  No matter how many nights I got up, there he was—or he was outside walking in the dark.  Or standing at the window, gazing off into the blackness.  I would hide and watch him—I don’t know if he ever knew I was there.  I could feel that he was in pain.  At first, I didn’t understand.  I wanted to run to him, but something always held me back.  When I got older, I began to realize he was tormented by memories, and by guilt.  Sometimes he would speak softly to himself, and I would hear names.  Jax.  He was my father’s closest friend.  Like a brother.”  His tone soured.  Darius and his own brother had anything but a close relationship.

“I found out years later that Jax was killed because of my father’s mistake.  He carried that guilt the rest of his life, Ana.  I am named after him…after Darius Jax.”  He took a deep breath.  “No, I saw what humanity did to my father.  There is no room in our profession for weakness.  None.  Erik Teller is my friend, but he is also my second in command.  What happens when he dies because of a mistake, as Jax did so long ago?  Or when I must send him into deadly danger for the good of the unit?  Do I hold him back because he is my friend, and put the entire force at risk?  Or do I send a friend to his death?”

He sat quietly for a few seconds, breathing softly.  “I will not allow myself the human weakness that so tormented my father.  That is not my life, it was his.  I must be strong.  Always.”

Ana looked back at Darius, and he could see tears welling up in her eyes.  “No man can be a pillar of stone,” she said, her voice barely a whisper.  “Your father was a hero, Darius.  His name is remembered with great reverence on hundreds of planets.”  She put her hand on his head, ran her fingers slowly through his hair.  “Did you ever consider that the very traits that tormented him so were also responsible for his greatness?  That he is as revered as he is for the very reason that he had human weaknesses?”

“While I am called a butcher, and my name is cursed?  And people wonder how the great hero spawned such a cold-blooded monster?”

“That is not what I said, Darius.”

“But it is the truth.”  He took a slow breath.  “Which is another reason why I cannot afford myself the luxury of weakness.  Let people say what they wish.  Their adoration did my father no more good than their revulsion does me harm.  Indeed, my reputation is of great value, more ever than my father’s was to him.  What did he get?  Empty platitudes?  Fear is far more useful.  People will follow the herd, and they will adopt whatever viewpoints they are fed.  But I don’t care what they think.  I make my own decisions, and I answer to no man.  Let them hate me.  Let them worry that one day my soldiers will come for them…for if they fear me enough, they will stay out of my way and not provoke my anger.”

Ana was about to respond when the AI spoke.  “General Cain, there is a vessel approaching the Nest, requesting permission to land.  The passenger states he is an envoy from Roderick Vance of the Martian Confederation.”

“Confirm the identification,” Cain snapped, swinging his legs over the side of the bed as he did.  “And then authorize immediate landing in the VIP bay.”  He stood up and glanced back at Ana.  “I’ve got to go see what this is about.  But you go back to sleep.  It’s the middle of the night.”  He managed to flash her a quick smile, and then he turned, heading for the shower.

Chapter 16

“The flow of captives from Earth has doubled over the last year.  The increased bounties have proven to be extremely effective at accelerating production.  Not only have we recruited more prospecting crews, but the ones already at work have shown improved productivity.”  One spoke slowly, softly, his aged voice struggling to maintain its volume.  “We have also noticed a considerable uptick in the percentage of captives meeting Prime qualifications.  As we increased the bounties for this group the most, it would appear that simple human greed has proven to be an extremely effective tool.”

“This is fortunate,” said Two, “as our most recent experiments into the artificial production of new specimens have failed across the board.  Despite three decades of research and millions of credits in expenditures, we have been unable to replicate the procedures that were used to create us.”  He drew a long, raspy breath into his lungs.  “The experimental clones have been plagued with a high rate of replicative degeneration issues, and the accelerated development process has failed entirely.  All experimental subjects died within one month of the start of the procedure.”

“Indeed, it is now apparent that we must rely entirely on captured subjects to meet our needs.”  Three moved his gnarled, aged fingers across a small ‘pad.  “I am sending you both projected data on industrial output and troop strengths.  I propose that even after the recent increase in shipments from Earth, the implementation of the Plan requires still greater numbers, especially in the total absence of supplementation with cloned personnel.  We require more Prime level candidates to attain target troop levels, and we must reach our quotas on an accelerated basis to allow sufficient time for conditioning and training before deployment.”

He swiped his hand across the ‘pad again.  “Further, if you will review the figures I just highlighted, you will see that we have significant industrial capacity set to come online over the next year.  We require additional labor to increase mining production to meet the raw material requirements of the new factories.”  He hesitated, taking another breath.  “In summary, we require more manpower at every level of our operation, even beyond the projected numbers now in route.”

The room’s other two occupants looked down at their ‘pads, scanning the tables Three had sent them.  One looked up and said, “I concur with your analysis, Three.”  He turned and looked to his right.  “Two?”

“I am also in agreement.  I propose we further increase the bounties, with additional bonuses based on production levels.  Let us reward the teams that strive to raid larger settlements.”  His eyes dropped back to the ‘pad for a few seconds.  “Extrapolating from the data on the previous increase, I submit that a further doubling of the bounties will allow us to hit our target levels within the next Earth year.”

One said, “Are we agreed then?  The bounties will be doubled from present levels, effective immediately.”

“Agreed,” said Two.

Three nodded.  “Agreed.”

“Very well.”  One slid his fingers across his ‘pad.  “It is done.  What is the next order of business?”

Three looked down the table with a frown.  “I would discuss another effect of our lack of progress with the cloning technology.  Clearly, this has eliminated the last chance that we may reverse our own accelerated degeneration.  We must now consider it a virtual certainty that the three of us will be dead within eighteen months, two years at most.”  His voice was strangely unemotional, even as he was speaking of his own imminent death.  “We must take steps now to ensure that nothing interferes with the Plan, even after we are gone.”  He paused.  “I submit that we must move forward with the final activation of the Intelligence.”

The room was quiet for a few seconds, the three men all deep in thought.  Finally, One broke the silence.  “We have been working on that project for fifteen Earth years, yet I fear the risk involved in total activation remains very high.  We have input the required data and the sum total of all our knowledge, yet we cannot be sure what will happen when it is fully activated.  I remind you that we did not build the Intelligence, that it is not of our science and, indeed, is thousands of years beyond our technology.  We have discovered how to reprogram it, at least after a fashion, but we cannot know what abilities and safeguards it has that we have not even discovered.  Our testing has been necessarily limited, and despite all of our efforts, we must acknowledge the possibility that full commitment of the Intelligence could destroy the Plan in one fell swoop…or alter it beyond our own recognition.  It may revert to its old directives, and seek to destroy mankind outright.  Or it may behave in ways we cannot conceive.”

“I cannot counter your concerns with facts, One, nor can I disagree with any of your assertions.”  Three stared across the table, holding his shaking hands in front of him.  “I simply ask one question.  What alternative do we have?  When we conceived the Plan, in the aftermath of the Fall, we relied upon a number of assumptions.  We anticipated rediscovering the secrets of the Shadow process.  We expected to arrest our own accelerated physical deterioration and, indeed, extend our own lives almost indefinitely.  Our failure to succeed on either of these fronts compelled us to radically alter the Plan. 

“We can either depend on inherently unreliable, hand-chosen successors—who themselves will have to select the generation of leaders to follow them—or we can take a risk and, if we succeed, leave behind a device that will preserve our mentalities…and extend our rule in the distant future.  Mankind has a poor record of creating states that are sustainable, largely because of the mortality of men.  The firmest rulers, the most absolute and iron-willed dictators inevitably give way to those who follow…heirs, rivals, colleagues.  The dynamism of those with the strength to seize power is slowly bled away with each passing generation.  If we are successful with the Intelligence, we will end all that.  We will create a state that will place all humanity under the rule of an entity that is, for all intents and purposes, immortal.  Mankind will cease squandering resources on foolishness and wasteful conflicts.  Humanity’s efforts will be channeled toward growth, toward increasing the technological abilities of the race.  We will prevent men from making foolish choices, directing their every activity toward the most productive uses.”

He paused.  “When next we encounter a threat like the First Imperium, we will be ready.  And on a thousand worlds, mankind will be ready to accept our orders.”  Another pause, longer this time.  “We simply cannot leave something as crucial as the Plan to the vagaries of generational successors.

Two spoke next.  “I am inclined to agree with Three.  Our unleashing of the Second Incursion was a mixed success.  Fifteen years of our clandestine work, sowing distrust and discontent among the colonies, working to bring them to the brink of territorial conflicts and expanding warfare between them, was washed away, temporarily, at least, by the unifying effect of the First Imperium threat.

“In the end, however, the discovery of Zeta Omicron and our activation of the Intelligence we found there, was, in sum total, a positive to our efforts.  The destruction unleashed upon Occupied Space was extraordinary, and the colony worlds are far weaker now than they were…far more so than they would have been if they’d enjoyed thirty years of uninterrupted growth.  Our ability to create overwhelming superiority at any point of conflict is almost assured, and if we are able to bring about the destruction of the Great Companies, the last forces capable of truly facing our Omega Force soldiers will be gone.  We find ourselves now at a similar crossroads to the day we touched off the Second Incursion.  We must decide.  Do we trust in a decade and a half’s tireless reprogramming efforts and reactivate the Intelligence?  Or do we allow ourselves to be ruled by fear and choked by caution…and trust in normal men to succeed us, imperfect beings just as likely to fight each other for power as to steward the Plan?”

“Indeed,” Three interjected, “the Second Incursion was certainly a net positive, increasing the likelihood of the Plan’s ultimate success.  Our audacity was rewarded, and I see no reason for us to shy away from the aggressive course now.  The destruction of the First Imperium forces allowed us to deactivate the Intelligence and bring it back to Vali.  For fifteen years we have labored to mold it to our needs, to program it with our plans…and our thoughts and memories.  We have hoped it wouldn’t be necessary, that our medical research would discover a means to reverse our physical deterioration and extend our human lives, but now we must accept that such hope had gone unfulfilled.  Even if we were to attain some last minute advance, the likelihood of meaningfully reversing deterioration as advanced as that we have already suffered is vanishingly small.  It is too late.  We must now look to a future as part of the Intelligence.”

He lifted his head, staring at each of his colleagues in turn.  “I submit we have been over this before, that we have considered all of the risks.  One’s concerns have been duly noted and adequately debated.  Indeed, I am inclined to agree with him almost in total, save for one overwhelming fact.  We have no other realistic option.”  He paused, looking at One and Three again.  “I therefore propose that we activate the Intelligence in six months, and we position it to continue with the Plan after the three of us are gone.”

Three nodded.  “Agreed.”

One hesitated, an uncomfortable look on his face.  But after a few seconds he, too, nodded.  “Agreed.”

“Very well, it is decided.  The Plan will proceed…and when it is completed, mankind will be ruled for all time by the Intelligence.  And we shall be immortal, the essence of our minds, at least, within the great sentient computer.

*        *        *        *        *

Ivan Maranov walked slowly down the corridor, admiring the sheer enormity of the complex.  Vali was an amazing world, and thirty years of the Triumvirate’s ceaseless efforts had turned it into an industrial powerhouse without compare.  Its vast factories and assembly plants dwarfed those of any colony in Occupied Space.  It was a testament to what legions of forced labor could accomplish.  The vast majority of those who lived on Vali were there to work, and they toiled ceaselessly, with only enough rest to keep them alive.  It was an existence that defied imagination, a living nightmare for the millions so enslaved.

The Draconis Terminii system was itself a natural marvel, with no less than three extremely habitable worlds—and another two ice planets that possessed remarkable mineral wealth.  The small cluster of worlds, and the legion of massive farms and sprawling industrial plants upon them, were in constant operation.  They produced everything the Triumvirate required to prepare for the day when they would launch the final stage of the Plan, a day Maranov knew had to be close when he’d received the summons.

For all the amazing characteristics of the Triumvirate’s home system, perhaps Draconis Terminii’s greatest strength was secrecy.  The star lay beyond the Rim, through a secret warp gate, the location of which was one of the most closely guarded secrets in the galaxy. That single fact had made the Triumvirate’s efforts—indeed, its very existence—possible.

Maranov had served the Triumvirate for two decades, but he had never laid eyes on the three beings who wielded so much power in utter secrecy.  He’d heard the rumors, of course, that they were Gavin Stark clones that had survived the Fall.  Maybe, he had thought many times.  From what he had heard, the Shadow program had produced thousands of clones, so it was certainly a possibility.  Or perhaps they were just deputies of Stark’s who had escaped their master’s destruction. 
I may never know.  But I cannot argue with the success they have achieved.

Whoever they were, they had selected him to serve them, and they had given him the means to accumulate power—and so he had.  He had been born with the name Maranov, but no one called him that anymore.  To all but a very few he was known by his title only, the Tyrant of Eldaron.

He reached the end of the hallway and stopped.  There were two guards flanking the doorway, and they snapped to attention as he approached.  Maranov was impressed, as he always was by the Omega Force soldiers.  There was something about them, a relentless quality, almost robotic.  At first he’d suspected they were clones, that the Triumvirate had rediscovered the lost secret to the Shadow program.  But then he realized none of them resembled each other.  Whatever was done to them to turn them into such cold, unquestioning warriors was a mystery, a secret the Triumvirs had not deigned to share with him.  His Eldari troops were normal conscripts, motivated by a typical combination of pay and discipline.  He could only guess, but he suspected they wouldn’t last an hour in the field against the Omega forces.

He walked through the door, and it shut behind him.  The room was exactly the same.  He’d been here twice before—three times in twenty years that he’d come at the bidding of his masters.  It felt different this time.  There was an anger inside him, a resentment at being called halfway across Occupied Space at the whim of his puppetmasters.  When they’d first selected him, he’d been an officer in the Eldari militia, and their offer of sponsorship and support had been enough to win his pledges of undying loyalty.  He’d returned from his first trip to Vali with everything he needed to begin his ascent to power.  His second pilgrimage had come shortly after he’d declared himself Tyrant, and he’d been enormously grateful to his benefactors for the power they had helped him attain.